


Playing Games

by DunkMeToHell



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: AND IT WAS WORTH IT TO POST THIS, Anal Sex, M/M, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Y E S IT'S 6 AM, Y'ALL AIN'T WRITING ENOUGH FOR THIS COUPLE I GOTTA DO IT MYSELF, also i started writing this before brian returned so he's still recovering from injury here, more or less devolves into fluff by the end though, once again i finished this at 6 AM est, their relationship is so weird but shit if they don't love each other a lot, you know who doesn't know how to end fanfics???? me asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 06:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14396406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DunkMeToHell/pseuds/DunkMeToHell
Summary: Jack wants Brian to get himself cleaned up. Brian wants to do something different.





	Playing Games

 

It’s about 5 AM when Jack finally closes the laptop for him.

“That’s enough of that.”

He just barely manages to stifle a chuckle at Brian’s slanted glare. It’s awful, and he knows it’s awful—by now, thank God, most of the purplish swelling has cooled into regular flesh tones, but Brian’s jaw is still unusually tight, and the ridge of his brow is just a bit puffy. It’s just unexpectedly funny to have a large pink boil glowering at you.

“Don’t patronize me,” Brian says softly through half-clenched teeth, opening his laptop back up.

It could be far worse, too. Jack remembers standing for several long, leg-numbing hours outside of surgery—the same poor nurse walking by several times to insist that he sit, only for Jack to spurn her each time. He’d done his best to hide it, but the moment the doctor had said “reconstructive”, Jack nearly felt his heart stop altogether.

Thankfully, several hours (and a total loss of feeling below his shins) later, Jack was relieved to find that the quasi-conscious man in the wheelchair still mostly looked like the Brian he remembered.

Hypothetically, then, Jack should also be grateful that Itami’s recklessness hasn’t destroyed Brian’s brain, either. Tonight, Brian is typical, forcing his glazed eyes to stay open at the screen as he types slavishly away at the keyboard. He and Jack both know he isn’t up to anything important at all, and that he would really rather be in bed anyway, but that doesn’t really matter. This is all a game of Brian’s; a game of spite—not spite towards Jack, just a little bit of spite for the world in general. Brian hated the world so much, and loved to spit upon it, as if it could restore some of whatever it was that he’d lost. At the very least, that’s what Jack assumes, what Jack can understand—Brian never bothered to tell him much about how the man with the plan was born.

But it doesn’t matter much at this point, as Jack is sunk down with him, from the edge of the ring to the edge of the hospital bed to now, the edge of his desk—just as spiteful and bitter, but spiteful together. Something about that thought brings a twisted half-smirk to his face.

So Jack plays along with the game, merely stepping behind Brian’s chair, squinting into the bright screen over his shoulder. “Possible Holographic Projections Currently Serving in Congress”, the headline of the article reads.

Jack purses his lips. “Really, now?”

Brian flushes pink as he protectively hugs the laptop screen to his chest, temporarily dousing the light. “Can I do something for you?” He grumbles. Jack finds his tone almost insolent, but opts not to scold him just yet. Rather, he seats himself on the edge of the unmade bed, one leg folded neatly over the other as he looks on Brian with amusement.

“I bet that’s a rather fascinating article,” Jack says cheerily. “Do they make any mention of ‘holographs’ penetrating Parliament?”

“Ah, you think you’re damn hilarious, huh?” Brian asks, gruffly. Jack just keeps smiling—it’s another part of the game. Brian may act bothered, but Jack knows, even in the darkness, that the glare in his eyes has softened.

“Oh, no, Mr. Kendrick, I’m not funny at all,” Jack says coolly. “Do you really think I wouldn’t take you seriously?”

It sounds mocking, like a veiled threat, and it’s meant to. The effect is exactly what Jack intends, as Brian slowly relents, pushing the laptop back on the desk, away from his body—Jack tries valiantly not to squint at the bright white light, which burns big yellow blotches into his retinae. It’s gone in a minute as Brian shuts the laptop with a muted clap.

In the months they’ve been working as a team, Jack often feels more like Brian’s observer than his tag partner. To be sure, Brian is a fascinating specimen if Jack has ever seen one. Gentle chiding and encouragement never once worked on him—each of Jack’s countless attempts at a handshake to seal their partnership was met with a cold and suspicious stare. Brian never trusted kindness.

A threat, though, or unmasked contempt, Brian understood. To him, professions of caring or affection could be a lie—but no one ever lied about hating or wanting to betray you.

(No one until Jack, now. But it was all part of the game, and he still needed Brian to play along.)

Jack reaches out tentatively into the darkness, delicately taking some of Brian’s hair between his fingertips. As he expected, it’s heavy with a film of grease. Jack clicks his tongue.

“And I suppose _you_ didn’t take me seriously when I told you to shower?” He asks caustically. Brian grunts again.

“What business is it of yours?” He snarls. Jack exhales slowly through his nostrils. His query must have sounded a bit too close to sincerity for Brian’s tastes. He tries another approach.

“You look like trash,” Jack says, almost as easily and pleasantly as if he’s offering Brian up a suggestion.

(This is the lie. Even battered, swollen and stinking of three or four days’ filth, Brian has never looked like trash to Jack.)

Jack knows his play has worked when he hears Brian growling low in his throat, sees his silhouette shoot up suddenly upright from the chair in front of him.

“Alright. Fine.”

Harshly ripping a towel from a freshly folded pile (the laundry has always been Jack’s chore, and he gives it the highest care) Brian throws open the bathroom door. A brief cascade of light falls out before Brian slams the door behind him.

In a moment, Jack hears the creaking hiss of the shower head, and sighs with relief. He’s done it again.

Jack sets about preparation. He is swift and efficient as he strips the bed of its old sheets, torn this way and that, and replaces them with a fresher linen, pressed neatly and still faintly warm from the drier. The old sheets are thrown in a large laundry basket—as are twenty other discarded articles strewn this way and that, each of which Jack is careful to roll his eyes and sigh at when he picks them up.

In the back of his mind, Jack is aware that he should be humiliated, basically playing nursemaid to a man who won’t take care of himself properly. Of course, it hasn’t been like this since before the injury, necessarily. Even in mere alliance, though, Brian had rarely given the impression that he regarded Jack as much more than useful help—and now that Brian has been hurt, Jack is nothing _but_ useful, it seems. That may be the thing that bothers him the most: the effort expended on Brian that seemed to go completely unappreciated. Jack made Brian’s bed up in clean sheets and poured him a cup of tea every night, while he slept on his couch and drank what weak dreg was left.

Of course, Jack had volunteered himself for usefulness. Scratch that—he hadn’t “volunteered”; more _insisted_ that he would be there to care for his tag partner. At the time, it had seemed prudent: even though his injuries had been limited to his face, Brian’s first few weeks out of surgery were packed with prescriptions that left him mostly in bed. Now, however, Jack’s services are less essential—and yet, here he is, still walking to the kitchen to fetch a squealing kettle.

“There’s no need for you, and he doesn’t appreciate your presence,” he reasons with himself as he strains out the tea bags.

“Right,” Jack answers himself.

“In fact, you were his enemy before all this began.”

“Right again.”

“So leave.”

“Alright.”

And Jack stays put, pouring the tea into whatever clean mug he can find, scouring for it through all Brian’s kitchen drawers. After a moment’s deliberation, he gives in and pours a measure of gin, stirring it in with the tea. It’s the only way Brian finds it palatable.

Jack realizes something is amiss when he walks back into the bedroom with the tray. Brian isn’t out where he should be, his lithe form wrapped loosely in a towel, there for Jack to chide for dripping on the carpet. The shower head is still hissing hot from the bathroom.

Cautiously, Jack knocks twice on the door. “Kendrick?”

There is no response.

Jack nudges the door with his shoulder, and it drifts slowly ajar, filling the air with hot steam. He pulls the lapels of his shirt, hoping it doesn’t wrinkle in the vapor, as he peers into the bathroom.

Through the mist, Jack can see Brian, standing nude yet bone-dry before the sink. His grip is secured like a vise on the edges of the tile as he glowers into the foggy mirror, where his reflection rendered in a smudgy glow—but not so smudged that he can’t make out the knotted, swollen outline of what he should know as his face.

Jack frowns. He can smell Brian’s disgust, and it’s unfeigned. He doesn’t even realize that Jack is here, in fact—so Jack quietly clears his throat. Brian lifts his head only barely, still staring at the misshapen reflection that ridicules him in the mirror.

“I’m a fuckin’ mess,” he murmurs. Jack fights the urge to brush away a lock of hair that’s fallen across Brian’s collarbone.

“You are,” Jack says, pushing aside the shower curtain. “That’s why I’ve told you to shower—three times now?”

Jack is startled by the look Brian casts to him next. It’s not one of malice or defiance, but of silent defeat. It’s not even an intense glare, which is perhaps what unnerves Jack the most—the green depths of his eyes were supposed to be vivid, fervent, _violent_ , boiling with crooked thoughts and deeds and aspirations. They were not supposed to be _flat_ , only glimmering dully with a faint sense of shame.

At the very least, Brian looks fierce when he turns his eyes, still swollen half-shut, back to the muddled face in the mirror. “Fierce” could be an understatement, actually. He looks ready to punch a hole in the reflective glass…Jack’ instincts overtake him as he grabs Brian’s twitching wrist.

“Mr. Kendrick.” His voice is calm and cool. As usual, he and Brian contrast sharply, as Brian turns to look at him with a caged animal glare in his eyes—it evaporates in a second, however, back into subdued shame once he registers who’s taken his hand. He then looks down at his feet, sniffing and grumbling under his breath.

“I think you’ve wasted enough water by now, haven’t you?” Jack says, sparing Brian the indignity of apology. Brian merely shrugs at the floor, still leaning back against the sink.

“Don’t feel like it.” Again, his voice is barely audible. Jack fights a crease from his brow, trying to maintain aloofness even as a knot forms in his stomach.

“What you want is irrelevant, then,” Jack says, pulling the shower curtain further and nodding indicatively towards it. “Go on.”

Brian merely clenches his jaw, glowering up at Jack beneath the ridge of his gnarled brow. Jack can suppress the sigh building in his throat no longer as he pulls Brian in by his arm (fully expecting him to snarl and snap away—but he doesn’t). He gives into the urge, brushing away the hair that’s fallen over Brian’s shoulder. Brian exhales through his nostrils at Jack’s touch, looking up cautiously into his eyes, finding them as cool and sensible as ever.

Together, in this alliance, it’s always been like this: one brute bitter, seething with contempt; the other cold and proper, his contempt kept on ice. Whenever Brian was about to tilt off an edge, Jack was careful to hook a finger into the neck of his shirt and drag him back into balance.

But the injury has complicated things, salting the wounds of Brian’s already clipped wings, leaving him in the dust. He hates the sight of himself in the mirror, trapped in a bruised, battered, stinging face. He wants to be in the ring, plundering the realm that was _theirs—_

“Mr. ‘The’ Kendrick,” Jack’s voice has a sharp, pointed end, “I won’t ask you a fifth time. Get in the shower.”

—Not standing nude and filthy, whimpering like a dog at Jack’s knee in his own bathroom.

Contempt. For the doctors, putting him on leave. For that bastard Itami, leaving him shattered like this. For his own damn face, detonating so easily from just one kick. Contempt is boiling in his chest.

“Kendrick...”

And, when Jack gives him that _stare_ , it lights up the synapses of every single neuron he has left until he feels his brain crackling in tongues of fire.

“ _Make_ me,” Brian snaps. Jack’s spine stiffens, eyes widening.

“I beg your pardon?” He asks, grip in the shower curtain tightening. Through his clenched jaw, Brian bares his teeth.

“Wanna order me around, huh?” He snarls, taking a step closer to Jack, who meets his impetuous stare. “Fuckin’ _make me_ get in that shower, Gallagher.”

Somewhere, in the neat and orderly annals of Jack’s brain, something snaps cleanly in two. Beneath the corners of his mustache, he smiles mirthlessly.

“Very well.”

And Jack’s grappling is put to good use. Before Brian can even lurch to act, one wrist is caught in a bruising grip, pinioned up nearly against his shoulder blade, and the other is twisted about until it lays secured under Jack’s arm. With a little shove, Jack sends the uncomfortably tangled Brian Kendrick down into the basin of the tub—

But Brian refuses to go down alone. Just as Jack tries to fling him, one of Brian’s legs loosely manages to catch him behind the knee, hooking their inertia together. As Brian falls, so too does Jack, right behind him, landing hard in the linoleum basin with a stinging thud.

Even over the dull roar of the cascading water, Jack’s little hiss of pain is distinct, slowly rising onto his hands and knees. In his collapse, he’s ended up on top of Brian, one knee between his legs and both hands pinning his shoulders. Jack blanches a half-tone paler, feeling goosebumps rising off his flesh beneath his now-sopping dress shirt.

At the very least, now, Brian’s eyes have come back to life, albeit with shock at suddenly finding himself restrained, wet, and nude on the bottom of the shower. Jack’s vast hazel eyes are brimming with dismay—dismay that slowly, beautifully morphs into sharp indignation. Brian’s mind begins to feel a bit clouded.

Cholerically, Jack yanks Brian up until their faces are barely an inch a part.

“Alright,” he sneers, breath growing heavy and slow (from the steam billowing around him, he presumes). “I’ve _made_ you. Satisfied?”

Brian watches as Jack’s chest surges with his breath, where his soaked shirt clings to his soft white flesh, pink nipples just faintly visible through the thin fabric. He swallows down the urge to breathe out a “ _yes”_.

Jack nods gravely at Brian’s silence. “Good boy.” He notes a strange flicker in Brian’s eyes when he says that, but doesn’t think deeply upon it as he thrusts a washcloth unto Brian’s abdomen. “Now clean yourself up.”

Jack’s other knee is sliding to the side of Brian’s thigh as he prepares to stand up—hopefully the tea hasn’t gone cold, and he can drink his early as he drips dry—when Brian’s body suddenly overtakes his mind, wrapping both of his legs tightly around Jack’s thigh. He can sense Jack’s blood freezing in his veins.

“Don’t...” Brian’s mouth speaks on its own as his arm wraps around Jack’s shoulders. “Please.”

Jack sucks in his lips, pressing them into a flat line as he stares down at Brian. He’s almost stunning, long hair blooming out behind him, sticking to his cheeks and neck as water droplets slowly ribbon down his body. Those deep eyes of his are now half-lidded—not because of the swelling, this time, but because he wants them to be.

“I...I-I can’t _stay_ here,” Jack says. Tearing his eyes from Brian at that moment is unusually difficult. Brian merely clamps his legs tighter around Jack’s thigh.

“Oh, you can,” he moans, voice suddenly low and rich with confidence. “Because I’m not fuckin’ doing this without you.”

Jack glares right through Brian, frozen as he processes his words, the lopsided, smug smirk on his face. He’s just made a play—Jack had thought that Brian had left his cards flat on the table, face-up for him to see; perhaps, at first, he had, but now he’s suddenly drawn an ace from his sleeve. Jack feels every bit as angry as he does proud. _Here’s_ his clever bastard.

“That so, hm?” Jack chuckles through his teeth, his hand slowly finding its way below Brian’s chin. “ _That’s_ what you’ve been wanting?”

Brian’s smirk is unusually coy. He doesn’t answer, merely raises his eyebrows at Jack and then looks away. Jack exhales softly as he digs a hand into Brian’s long hair, down to the scalp, and suddenly tugs. Brian winces, muscles tensing in Jack’s rough touch, but the smirk on his lips stays in place—yet, it’s not just smug, not only playful. There’s something else tinting Brian’s face, crawling slowly through his cheeks and glimmering in his eyes. Jack feels electricity surging through his spine, and he moans without thinking.

 _That_ was it, what it’s been this whole time.

Jack presumes it must be time for him to make the next play.

With another sharp yank of his hair, Jack drags Brian’s face up until they’re scant inches from touching, barely enough space for air to pass between their lips.

“You cheeky little shit...” Jack breathes against Brian’s mouth, hand retreating from his scalp, trailing slowly down his spine. “You’ve tricked me.”

Brian chokes down a shuddering gasp. The look in Jack’s eyes is wickedly beautiful, piercing though Brian’s flesh and picking through his bones. He swears it will haunt him for the rest of his life.

“So what if I did?” Brian’s lips twitch, barely able to murmur those words. Jack merely laughs, so dark and low in his throat that Brian can feel its vibrations in his stomach. The tremors join a pressure that’s been building in him for months, gnawing away at his walls until his gut felt sore. Now, with Jack leering above him, the pain is wonderfully tender.

Jack’s chuckling melts quickly into growling, and Brian registers belatedly that his hand has fallen to the soft muscle of his ass.

“Little bastard...someone ought to fix you.”

If Jack’s words aren’t what sends Brian over the edge, then it’s the sudden rush of pain spreading through his veins as Jack takes his ass in a harsh grip. Brian lets free a gasp that’s been caught in his throat, and his body takes him over again—he willfully puts all reason aside as he tightens his legs, mindless and eager as he begins to grind his arousal helplessly into Jack’s thigh.

“Oh, fuck...yes, do it,” Brian breathes. “ _Fix_ me.”

Jack drinks in the darkness of Brian’s voice as he speaks. The thick arch of his cock is dragging against his thigh—he can’t help but think that Brian is lovely down there, hopelessly lost and needy; can’t help but wonder if these thoughts have been in his head for months (God forbid, since they’ve _met_ —now _that_ would be flattering) as they have been in his. A moan travels through Brian’s spine up into Jack’s core from the friction. The brush of his skin against Jack’s cotton slacks is beginning to get sore, and Brian is just about to let a pathetic whimper when Jack reaches down to his waist and undoes the zipper.

“Now, now, Kendrick...” Jack says with a breathless smirk, slowly revealing his bare thighs, “see if this is any better...”

Brian nods again, already too far gone to even move his gaping lips enough to thank him, just fervently massaging his dick into Jack’s skin. Shit—even softer and smoother than he’d been imagining at night. Fittingly, Jack’s flesh feels like a balm against his own, and the contrast between the cool, powdery feel of his newly damp skin and Brian’s burning shaft is deliriously arousing in itself.

“You like that, hm?” Jack’s venom is sweet as he moves on to freeing himself from his soaked dress shirt. He can see Brian’s lips trembling as he lets out a low groan at his words, and he smirks—he hasn’t properly made love in a while, but if he’s making Brian lose a little control of his mouth already, it must be a good sign. He decides to make another play.

“You’re a filthy animal, aren’t you?” Jack leans down to whisper viciously into Brian’s ear. “Look at you, humping my leg like a dog…”

The reaction is easily better than he’d hoped for. Brian’s eyelids flutter as he reaches haphazardly, almost blindly at the shirt Jack has already mostly shed, nearly ripping it in his fists.

“J-Jack...” Brian’s voice is soft, nearly lost in the heavy veil of steam, but hissing, hoarse with desperation, “please. Please, oh God, _please..._ ”

Jack feels his dick growing uncomfortably firm inside his briefs, and is strongly tempted to put the charade aside, strip himself all the way down, and take everything he wants from Brian—but not nearly as tempted as he is to push it even further, to see how far he can stretch Brian until he snaps.

So, teasingly, he leans away, sitting up on his knees, leaving his little plaything whining with want on the floor. Jack grins under the corners of his mustache at the deep awe in Brian’s eyes as he looks up at him. Jack had been worried, at the very outset of their association, that there would be no act he could perform that would be enough to impress Mr. “The” Brian Kendrick. But now, he was _beneath_ Jack, eyes wide and hazy with lust. For _him_.

“P-please!” Brian repeats, with twice the fervor as Jack leans away from him. Jack merely chuckles, slowly running a hand down his chest, sending droplets of water in a long waterfall down his marble skin. He slides his fingertips down past the elastic edge of his waistband, tenderly grasping the warm edges of his own length and giving it a few loving, tender strokes. “Mm...”

It’s hard to tell, under the falling water, but Brian may be drooling at the sight.

“Hmm...please ‘what’, Kendrick?” Jack asks, careful to sigh, making his self-pleasure apparent.

It proves too much, in an instant. Brian makes a strangled sound as he suddenly bolts upright, pressing himself flat, chest-to-chest, with Jack, with enough force to thrust his back against the cool wall of the shower.

“Fuck me,” he growls into Jack’s ear, his hand tearing at his waistband. “Jack, _fuck me._ ”

A moan is torn from Jack’s lips. Shit, he can’t help it; he knew exactly what Brian wanted and he _still_ can’t help it. With a harsh grasp in his hair, Jack gains the upper hand back from Brian in a second, flinging him back onto his knees on the wet floor. The pain is sharp and immediate, and Brian whines in ecstasy _. “_ Oh, _fuck...”_

Jack laughs severely, slowly setting his hand aside Brian’s thigh. “You little _creature_. Desperate to be fucked, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes, _yes..._ ” Brian pants, already ragged, mind poisoned by Jack’s evil words. “ _Please._ ”

“Pathetic...” Jack gives a little contemptuous hiss, even as his eyes fall down the snaking curves of Brian’s prone body, from his shoulder to the arch of his hip. Suddenly finding the urge irresistible, Jack raises his hand up and strikes down sharply on the delicate skin of Brian’s thigh. The impact reverberates off the walls of the shower, and Brian sobs at the sting. He sinks down, chest nearly pressed to the drain, and lifts his ass up higher, as if to plead for another one. Jack hums, receiving the message, and strikes the soft skin of one cheek just as hard. The strike travels up through Brian’s body in a wave that crests with a low shudder.

“Holy shit, Jack...” Brian moans, legs already starting to tremble out of his control, “fucking _amazing..._ ”

Jack merely _tuts_ softly, discretely admiring way Brian’s ass looks with his handprint on it—the searing mark already starting to deepen red, glistening with the sheen of water droplets. The beauty of Brian debased is too much for Jack to bear, and, slowly, he begins freeing himself from his now-drenched boxers.

“My, listen to this whore,” Jack says scornfully, trying to keep his excitement from crackling in his voice. “Acting as though my cock is already inside of him.”

Again, Jack’s words prove electrifying, and his pet sobs again, back curving into just the most tempting arc, pressing his little ass up for use _._ Jack smirks slowly as he kneels, pulling Brian closer by his hips until he’s positioned before him.

It’s as he’s looking down on Brian, back bowed in, taut ass bent upward, long hair falling all over his cheeks and face and neck, that Jack feels that maybe his dick should’ve been inside of him months ago.

He knows to start slowly, at first—giving Brian what he wants _now_ would end the game, and that simply wouldn’t be _fun_ —barely grazing across his tight little hole with his fingertip. Already Brian hisses, though a bit more out of frustration than pleasure as he sways his hips before Jack’s eyes.

“Don’t. I’m ready now. _Please._ ”

Jack gnaws his lower lip, thanking God that Brian can’t see his face as he turns down the tempting offer, instead just pressing on through his entrance—and, really, Jack doesn’t have to do much of the work. Even on the inside, Brian is starving and eager, and his velvety walls take Jack’s finger tightly in their warmth and swallow him down deeper.

“Oh, _fuck..._ ” Jack can’t help but breathe as he draws his finger back out, only to screw it deep back inside, sinking knuckle-deep.

The stroking is experimental, at first, and Jack wades further out the more courageous he becomes, slowly, carefully twisting around inside, curling his finger in a come-hither motion (that, as Brian suddenly constricts and sobs, seems to be particularly devastating). He softly bites his lip, and, with surprising delicacy, urges a second finger inside to join the first. Brian utters a soft swear as his walls take even more tightly to Jack, who again can’t fight back a smirk.

“Taking right to me, hm?” He taunts, slowly deepening his touch with a twist of his fingers. “So fucking desperate...you’re almost cute.”

A sharp cry falls from Brian’s lips. “ _Fuck!_ ” He sobs in distress, clawing uselessly at the wet linoleum lining the base of the tub. “Goddammit, _fuck me_ , get your cock inside of me, you piec—“

Brian is pleased with how Jack punishes him for his insolence, judging by the rapturous sob he makes when Jack knots a hand up in his hair and tugs mercilessly. The other hand immediately withdraws from his asshole to deliver a fierce, searing smack across his still-burning cheeks. Brian feels his dick somehow grow harder as Jack leans down into his ear.

“Shut up. Shut your whore mouth. You do _not_ speak out of turn to me like that again, understood?” The heat of Jack’s breath on his neck is nothing compared to the fire in his words, and Brian does his best to nod, Jack still holding his hair like a set of reigns.

“C...” A strange request suddenly boils onto Brian’s mind. “C-call me...call m-me y-y...”

Jack uses his handle on Brian’s dripping hair to pull him back to an almost uncomfortable angle. “What’s that?” He demands sharply—so sharply, Brian feels as if a knife is to the back of his neck. He wants nothing more than to be cut by it.

“ _Call me your bitch._ ” Brian’s voice is lost in a breath, and he’s lost in the moment as his neck and body go almost limp in Jack’s grasp.

Jack feels a wave roll through his body at Brian’s request, and it culminates in his cock, which throbs with deep, feverish want. He laughs breathlessly against his lips, turning Brian’s head up to face him.

“My God,” he murmurs softly, breath hot on Brian’s lips, which part willingly. “I’ve never had such an eager little _bitch_.”

Brian cries out again, and Jack quells the sound, forcing his tongue down past his lips in an almost violent kiss. Brian melts, giving into it almost instantaneously, and he gives a soft whine when Jack suddenly pulls away. A look of consternation is faintly recognizable in his eyes.

“Jack...” Brian whimpers, still thrusting his cock up to fuck the air. “Don’t stop...”

“I...” _Shit._ How could he forget something so important? Jack squeezes his eyes shut as a hot streak of embarrassment washes across his body, before softly chuckling. “Th-there may be something that we yet need…”

Brian hums mindlessly, carefully rolling his head around, only for Jack to corral him back into control with a sharp jerk of his hair. Brian laughs out a little sob.

“L-lube...?” He murmurs, lidded eyes rolling back to look at Jack, who gives a stiff nod.

“Right.”

A smirk now spreads across Brian’s lips, and for a moment his laughter is true. “B-basket. On toilet.”

Brian chuckles breathlessly at the shy blush that spreads across Jack’s cheeks, which deepens as he draws his hand back from beyond the curtain holding the small blueish bottle. Despite the pain creeping deep into his scalp, Brian smirks.

“F-find what you were looking for-r?” He somehow finds the nerve to tease Jack, who—he can’t help but note—uncaps the bottle with an almost expert flourish. Jack says nothing, merely tugging hard on Brian’s hair, constricting until he has full control of his head. Now all Brian can see is the water rushing between his knees as Jack kindly directs his eyes to the floor.

Faintly, after a moment, the bottle clicks shut, and is placed delicately back into the basket—Brian shudders as he hears the technique. Jack’s motions are slow, deliberate, and, worst of all, completely calm.

Rather than seething through his teeth, beating his ass raw, reminding him that he’s property, Jack is eerily _calm_ as he prepares his cock for Brian—this strikes him deeply in the heart of arousal and fear. No plague in hell can compare to the fury of an icy, stone-silent Jack Gallagher. Now Brian can sense it: he is going to be savaged.

“Mr. Kendrick?” Jack’s voice is low, but packed deep with gunpowder. His chamber is loaded.

“Y-yes?” Brian’s voice is comparatively dry and flaking. Another gust of breath escapes him as Jack’s hands suddenly fall to his hips.

“My bitch.”

It isn’t a question. Brian nods rapidly, feeling his cock throb in acquiescence. “Y-yes.”

Jack isn’t just ahead in their game right now. He’s already won it, really. Won it _months_ ago.

“You’ve had a bottle of lube in your bathroom?” Jack asks Brian, sounding as if he’s genuinely curious. Tentatively, Brian nods again. “Speak.”

“I-I have.”

“Have what?”

“H-had a bottle of lube in the bathroom...” Brian’s eyes stay glued to the drain between his knees. It’s more humiliating if he can’t even look at his master.

“And why,” Jack’s voice suddenly drips low into a growl, “did you have it on hand?”

Brian gasps as Jack’s nails bite deep crescents into his thighs. “J-jerking off—!”

His voice is lost in a whimper as the tip of Jack’s cock presses against his asshole.

“‘Jerking off’, hm?” Jack scoffs remorselessly. “Such an unclean term, so fitting for a little animal such as yourself.” Brian merely whines in agreement on the floor, and Jack chuckles at his desperation. “But tell me, Mr. Kendrick…”

Jack stops and gives a sharp, shallow thrust of his hips, burying the tip of his dick just past Brian’s entrance. Like a drop of water in a puddle, Brian’s entire body ripples with a shudder, shivering so beautifully that Jack has to fight not to moan right back. “...what is it that you _think_ about when you touch yourself?”

The next sound Brian makes is indecipherable, trapped between a laugh and a grunt. “Y...you...”

Jack pulls hard at the ends of Brian’s hair, making him sob again. “What was that?”

“Ah-h...y-you! _You!_ ” Brian is fraying at the ends, desperate as he attempts to force himself further down to envelop more of Jack’s warm cock. Jack merely tames him with another sharp twist on the roots of his hair.

“What _about_ me, Mr. Kendrick?”

Brian snaps, laughing almost rapturously. “Oh, Christ— _I_ _fuck myself thinking about you, Jack_ ,” Brian cries out, hips swaying.

A groan pops unrestrained from Jack’s lips. Finally, it’s enough; too much, even, for Jack to bear with his stiff upper lip. With a single sharp thrust, he falls deep inside, hips snapping as his full length takes its rightful place down in the tight, warm depths of Brian’s body. Brian shatters almost instantly, gasping as all the oxygen in his body suddenly escapes him, leaving his spine and limbs trembling.

“ _J-Jaaaack-k..._ ” His sob is pathetic and delicious, already contracting around the cock buried inside of him. Jack grits his teeth, damming up and swallowing the groan that almost instinctively wants to escape him. He leans down into Brian’s ear, keeping still inside of him, letting him suffer through the stretch.

“You touch yourself thinking about me, do you, you disgusting _pig?_ ” Jack purrs mockingly, warm breath washing over Brian’s neck. Brian nods rapidly, the filthy words trailing right down his spine, leading directly into his already swollen dick.

Jack laughs remorselessly, slowly drawing his length out, freeing a few inches—slowly, he makes sure, so that his bitch _feels_ it. “What a pitiful slut...” Jack murmurs, almost menacing as his hips snap to Brian’s waist again, forcing him to cry as his cock plunges in again. “So _desperate._ So needy for my prick that he had to _imagine it._ ”

Brian feels his tongue hanging from his lips, making sounds and half-clipped words of agreement that he doesn’t even understand. It doesn’t matter at all, really—his mind isn’t his own anymore, nor is his body; _everything_ is Jack’s now, completely turned over to his possession. Jack clings to the ownership fiercely, one hand clawing red marks into Brian’s thighs that sizzle in the falling water, the other falling to his neck, taking a faint but intimidating grip. It’s still enough that Brian chokes in surprise.

“ _Gh_ —Ja-ack...” He barely whines, thrusting his hips backward to meet the cock that’s stretching his hole from the inside. Jack’s growl is animalistic, pure instinct as he plunges Kendrick’s depths. He masks his amazement with a snarl—every thrust, every calculated pulse of his hips takes him deeper, fucks Brian faster and _harder_ , but the heat surrounding his prick stays velvet-soft and warm, drawn so close around him like a second skin. Jack’s jaw clenches as Brian gasps, constricting on his cock, agitating the delicious, throbbing pain that came from just being so _erect_ , twitching more desperately and red than it ever has before in his life.

“Oh, _fuck..._ ” Jack growls, giving his hips one powerful thrust, lodging himself as deep as his base (no minor feat—it was not a short length) before pausing. Brian whimpers, feeling it resting thick and solid within him. He’s never felt a warmth like this in his life.

“What are you?” Jack spits, hand tightening its grip just barely around the back of Brian’s neck, listening with pleasure to his deep, throaty gag before releasing.

“Mmmmh...” Brian mindlessly hums, arching his back in enticingly. “I’m-m a slut...”

Jack snorts with approval, hand dragging up from Brian’s thigh to slap his ass sharply. “Such a good boy...” he murmurs, rewarding Brian with a shallow thrust of his cock into his eager little asshole. Brian chokes with bliss; Jack purrs with pride. “Whose slut are you?” He asks, cock skewering deep in Brian’s heat.

“ _Yourrrs....._ ” Brian moans, roughly and raggedly. Jack’s hand again strikes the soft flesh of his already-red ass.

“Again, slut.”

“I-I’m-m...” Brian chokes on his words as Jack grazes past an especially sensitive nerve. “Oh-h _fuck,_ J-Jack—!”

For a moment Jack contemplates pulling away, demanding Brian finish his sentence, but he can’t pass an opportunity up. Instead he laughs—a laugh that even he barely recognizes, some other dark animal living in his head—and presses hard into that angle, thrusting relentlessly. Finally, he’s found the spot to destroy.

Already, Brian is done for, arching back into the floor, eyes fluttering and rolled back to look at the glitter and stars clouding his mind, mouth open and trembling, but unable to speak. His whole body is caught up, wrapped up in the blows, quaking, spasming like a possessed man. The precum beading on his tip grows thicker as it is washed away by the shower.

“Wh-what’s this...?” Jack purrs, smug at seeing the man considered his better came apart at the seams from his lust. “R-right there? You want my prick right there?”

Brian does not respond. He _can’t._ Not right now, when every thrust of Jack into him is destroying his brain and dragging him right to the edge. All he can do is nod, just barely, hardly even distinguishable from the sick, rapid twitching that has seized his entire body. Jack smirks at the approval, snapping his hips until his flesh stung, feeling his dick pulse with the heavy pain of Brian’s increasingly strong contractions.

“G-God...what a little whore...” he muses breathlessly, murmuring against Brian’s ear, trying to keep himself together and make his toy fall apart. “S-so eager, taking all of this cock...you’re almost fucking lovely, d-down there...”

Brian’s head begins to tilt back, a harsh whine leaving his chest. Jack smiles cruelly.

“Oh, th-think of it, Mr. Kendrick...sobbing on the shower floor, being f-fucked open, making yourself filthy... _cumming_ on yourself? Ha...” Jack conceals a gasp with a laugh as Brian squeezes down around his cock almost painfully. His sobs are bouncing off the walls of the shower, echoing and almost wonderfully deafening.

“W-well, Kendrick...s-so pathetic, aren’t you? Going to m-make a mess all over your fucking pretty body...do it.”

Brian’s hips tremble at Jack’s command. He feels the fire licking his brain, filling his heavy, quaking groin. “J...Ja...”

“ _Do it.”_ Jack’s voice is that of a master. “ _Cum.”_

And Brian throws the game. With a harsh sob, bordering a shriek, his spine goes rigid, and he comes all the way undone on Jack’s cock inside of him—trembling helplessly through his release, which falls thick and hot on his thighs and the shower drain. He screams vague words and thoughts, some sounding like swears, others Jack’s name, mangled and tortured, and some nothing at all—just mere words of amazement as he gazed up at the gorgeous stars blooming and exploding in his brain. Even as his flow slows to a dribble, Brian is bathed in a warm glow down into his bones. He could stay down in this forever.

Unfortunately, Jack is ready to move on, taking a sharp gasp of air as he sharply plucks his cock from Brian’s abused entrance. He tries to stand—too quickly. Dizzily, he stumbles against the wall, pressing both hands flat against it in an effort to regain balance, only barely avoiding slipping in the water. Jack’s cheeks flush pink, momentarily, only to look down and realize that Brian is barely clinging to reality, with his face all red, eyes glazed over. A high, sharp whine leaks continuously from his throat, like a hole has been punched through his diaphragm.

Jack reaches down to Brian’s arm and scoops him to his feet as delicately as he can. Again, Jack sways, this time under Brian’s weight as he uneasily sways into his chest. They manage to regain balance, Brian hunched over, one burning cheek pressed flat against Jack’s chest, breathing hot, unsteady breaths against his nipple. Jack smiles sympathetically, delicately running his fingers through Brian’s wet locks.

“H-hah…w-well, there…” Jack croons softly to Brian, who barely stirs. “G-good boy, Mr. Kendrick.”

Brian has certainly weathered it out, tonight; a thorough ravaging—one that Jack can’t remember ever having given anyone before in his life. Jack shivers, slightly, from the question of what had come over him—

Or, perhaps, that’s from the cold starting to seep into his bones. They’d been so preoccupied, the water from the shower head has mostly turned icy. Jack rubs his fingertips against the meat of his palm in his free hand, feeling the whole surface of his skin puckered and shriveled. He chuckles softly.

“Well, now…” he pushes Brian an arms’ length away, seeing the dazed, delirious look in his eyes, “let’s get you all cleaned, boy…”

Brian is coming back down into it rather quickly. At “boy”, he grumbles in muted protest, but carefully reaches over to the soap on the rack. He tries to run it against his shoulder, but his hands are unsteady, trembling all over and barely managing to cling to the bar. Jack sighs and takes pity, quietly prying the soap from Brian’s hands and carefully running it all across his body, gently and slowly, until his skin is white with a light foam. Brian does nothing to stop him. He’s almost purring, in fact, by the time that Jack slowly rinses the lather off of his tired, twitching limbs.

Jack smiles at the soft sigh of content that comes from Brian’s lips. “Feels better to be clean?” He gently teases, putting the bar of soap back in the dish on the rack. Brian hums, nodding faintly.

“F-feels like…l-load has been lifted off…” He barely mumbles. Jack smiles even brighter, the most genuinely he has in a while. It’s almost a distraction from—

Jack twitches, biting back a groan of pain, trying to keep it quiet. Unfortunately, Brian notices right away, squinting and turning to look at him.

“Wuzzat?” He asks in a hum. Jack swallows hard.

“N-nothing, I just…” He attempts to justify himself, but Brian is already looking down. His eyes blow up wide.

“Oh…Jack…”

Brian reaches out to touch Jack’s stinging cock, still fully, painfully erect, grown red and twitching from a lack of touch. Jack bites his lip with want, but forces Brian’s hand away.

“Don’t.” Jack forces himself to smirk at the glare Brian shoots him. He tries to keep himself collected as he uncaps the shampoo bottle, squeezing a small amount of the citrusy liquid into his hand. “D-don’t want to prolong this too much longer, a-after all…”

“But—”

Jack snaps his fingers at Brian. “No buts. I’m going to wash you now, understood?”

Brian sighs, resigning himself. He hisses slightly as Jack lifts his hands up to his head, the liquid shampoo oozing cold against his scalp. Jack merely hushes him softly as he works it into suds.

“Now, now…you hold still and it won’t take nearly so long…”

Brian just grumbles again at Jack’s words. Admittedly, Jack’s fingers are gentle but thorough against the skin of his scalp. He could almost nod off from the delicate way Jack is cleaning him—surprisingly delicate, given the way Jack just finished destroying Brian’s body, the care and tenderness betraying none of that same ferocity. Brian just looks up in Jack’s eyes, which are focused mainly on the task of shampooing his hair, wondering just how in the hell this could be the same man, switching from a scoundrel to a gentleman on almost a whim.

His eyes fall back down to Jack’s neglected cock, and his lips twinge sympathetically. “Jack—”

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Kendrick,” Jack says, simply. Brian just bites his lip. It’s hard _not_ to worry about it, when it’s straining to its limit, so red it seems ready to burst. Precum is still beading, thick and white on the tip, growing so heavy it drips down onto the floor, swirling in the water down the drain…

Brian feels his tongue dragging against his lips. He rests his hands loosely on top of Jack’s, keeping them knotted up in his hair as he slowly drops to his knees.

Jack rocks slightly backward in surprise. “M-Mr. Kendrick, you don’t—”

To his surprise, Brian hushes him softly. He’s knelt down before Jack, face nearly level with his thick cock. Jack swears he sees him smirking…

Jack takes a slow breath in, closing his eyes. Slowly, his fingers return to work in Brian’s hair. He should want to tell him to stop, but…he doesn’t. In fact, he deeply hopes Brian goes on; is aching in his core with hope that he will—

Jack lets out a hard, almost embarrassing gasp as Brian envelops the tip of his thick cock in his lips, slowly running his tongue around the surface. Brian hums softly at the taste, warm precum leaking slowly across his tongue.

_“Mmmmm…”_

Jack lets out another loud, almost unbecoming sob, fingers tightening in Brian’s hair as he slowly inches down, suckling in more of Jack’s warm, solid dick into his mouth, until the tip finally nudges against the opening of his throat. Brian barely gags; Jack bites his lip, whimpering, cheeks glowing deeply red. He’s trembling, heavy cock weighing down on Brian’s tongue, nervously fighting to keep his composure—and failing, badly failing, staying frozen in place as he resists the urge to drill in deep.

“A-ah…B… _Briannn_ …” Jack’s voice is small and helpless, back pressed against the film of condensation coating the wall. His fingers are no longer washing Brian’s hair, just suspended in place, knotted up in the long brown locks and faintly, barely tugging.

Brian’s eyes remained rolled up to Jack even as he avoids his gaze, locked in on him and filled with something almost like adoration. He takes some pity, and makes the move for Jack—with a forceful thrust of his head, Brian takes Jack’s swollen prick deep down into his throat until his lips are almost to his pelvis. He gags, loudly, beautifully, enjoying the way it stretches his lips and throat open wide, just shy of pain.

Jack’s body spasms, and he sputters, choking and sobbing for air as if a lung has been pierced. His eyes fall down to see Brian’s head nestled between his thighs, his cheeks awash with pink and his green eyes grown wide with needy affection as he suckles deeply on his cock, lips swelling faintly red—

Jack moans, tightly clutching Brian’s hair in his hands and pulling his head back. Finally, it’s enough. Growling, Jack uses Brian’s foam-coated hair like a set of reigns, rapidly drilling his dick in and out of his throat, hissing at its closeness, its warmth around him. Brian whines, clutching at Jack’s soft, pale thighs for leverage to just stay upright as Jack’s hips snap up against his face, almost to the point of sweet, blissful pain.

It’s too good to last much longer. After mere seconds of drilling, abusing Brian’s sweet, tight throat, all of the night’s desperation, ferocity and sheer _intensity_ all crest heavily in Jack’s throbbing cock, and is then driven off the edge of the cliff by the affectionate gaze in Brian’s eyes. Jack throws his head back against the wall of the shower, crying out sharply as he ascends to his peak, flooding Brian’s mouth with a load of thick, hot cum—thrusting all the way through it, almost selfishly trying to drain himself of it all.

Brian is patient, waiting until Jack is spent. And Jack spends himself thoroughly—after many endless seconds, Jack’s body is empty, weightless; he collapses against the wall, slithering down until he’s slumped over on the floor. His world is spinning, in flux, ears ringing and lights blurring in and out of a milky continuum, heart stirring violently against the dry cage of his ribs. He honestly wonders, for a moment, if he’s died.

Brian is smirking smugly as he pulls away from Jack’s tip, freeing it from his lips with a loud pop, then wiping his lips with the back of his wrist. Carefully, he slowly stands up on his feet, chuckling faintly at Jack, who sits still mindless on the floor below him. He takes a moment, washing the suds from his long brown hair, sighing as he feels the suds trickling down his back.

He flicks the water from his clean hair, shaking his mane from side to side. Jack is stirring at last, gasping confusedly for air as he slowly shifts onto his knees. Brian just barely turns his face, smugly grinning to him, and Jack can’t suppress a moan. Son of a bitch, he’s gorgeous.

“B…Brian…” Jack murmurs, reaching up at Brian blindly, eyes still half-glazed from afterglow. Brian’s smirk melts almost into a smile. He takes Jack’s knuckles carefully, delicately pressing a near-gentlemanly kiss against them.

“I win, Jack.”

And Brian pulls the curtain aside, excusing himself from the shower. Jack blinks at the empty air after he’s gone.

Brian has won.

So why doesn’t he feel like he lost?

 

* * *

 

Several minutes later, Jack is mostly recomposed, standing before the bathroom mirror with a towel tightly tucked around his waist as he twists his mustache carefully into its usual shape, a deceptive smile. Only now, it may not be so deceptive—maybe? Perhaps.

Jack sighs, running a comb along his hair in haphazard strokes, wincing as the teeth scrape his scalp. Truth be told, he isn’t quite sure how he’s feeling at the moment. Very strange, to be sure, and leaning in several different directions at once. In the ballpark of fear, certainly, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t glad. Anxiety flowing seamlessly into anticipation, one into the other, alternately eager and petrified to open the door into the bedroom…

Jack absently draws a face in the remaining steam gathered in the corner of the mirror. If nothing else, he’ll concede that Brian won based on the way he’s thrown Jack for a loop alone.

Cautiously, Jack nudges the door open with his shoulder, and immediately, he feels his face grow warm. Brian is lying sprawled out on the bed, his towel haphazardly unfolded around him. He’s lazing completely bare, skin still faintly damp and shining in the lamplight. He eyes up Jack as he lifts his cup of tea to his lips.

Jack approaches carefully, smiling faintly. “I bet that’s rather cold, by now,” he says, softly. Brian chuckles, setting the now-empty mug on the night stand.

“Nah. Americans like cold tea.”

Jack presses his lips into a flattened smile below his mustache, nodding as he carefully picks up his own teacup. He takes a delicate sip, letting it slosh cold against his lips. A shiver rolls down his spine, and he shudders as he quickly places it back down on the tray. Brian laughs, and Jack feels his face grow even warmer.

“W-well…” Jack clears his throat, averting his eyes from Brian’s slender form curled up on the mattress. “W-we must both be rather tired after all of that, no?”

Brian’s smile takes on a kind edge.

“I’d definitely say so…” Brian rolls onto his stomach, groaning. “‘Bout fucked me to death, didn’t you?”

Jack’s breath catches in his throat, and he tries not to whimper. Brian feels himself grow a bit warmer as Jack’s own cheeks grow redder. Jack just clears his throat again and nods.

“W-well…p-perhaps we ought to get in bed, then...”

Brian raises one eyebrow coyly. “I would agree to that…”

But, even as Brian shifts aside, Jack starts striding to the door.

“Very well, then. See you in the morning, Mr. Ken—”

“Hang on!” Brian shuffles over to the edge of his bed on his knees, tightly clutching Jack’s wrist. “The hell are you going?”

Jack freezes with surprise, staring between Brian’s hand on his wrist and Brian’s serious, self-assured face. “T…to bed?”

Brian shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. That couch ain’t a bed. Get over here.”

Jack sputters as Brian tugs his arm, bringing him stumbling over into the bed with him. “Y-you want me…to…to…” He laughs nervously. “M-my, Mr. Kendrick, how forthright of you…”

The smile grows deep in Brian’s cheeks as Jack falls onto the mattress before him, on his knees. The edges of his grin dig those deep lines into his cheeks that they always do, and Jack’s heart lurches to see them. Brian presses his head comfortably back into one pillow, hair, still faintly wet, spread out across it. He pats the space next to him, where Jack cautiously lies down on his side.

“You aren’t gonna be sleeping on a goddamned _couch_ anymore, hear?”

Jack’s eyes flicker back up to Brian’s, as if he expects to see him joking—but his gaze is entirely serious. He still asks, regardless. “Y…you’re not kidding, then?”

Brian shakes his head, lacing an arm around Jack’s neck. “Nope. It ain’t fit for a, mm…” he slowly grins. “A gentleman of your caliber.”

Jack’s heart pulses again, and he tries to conceal a wide grin behind his hand. Brian rolls his eyes as he tears the wrist away, exposing Jack’s mouth and opening up for a long, warm kiss—Jack’s eyes grow wide before softly falling shut. He’s glad that he’s lying down, now. He would likely fall over if he tried to stand up.

After a moment, Brian pulls back with a smile. His breath is warm on Jack’s lips. “Another thing…you can call me Brian, you know…”

Jack lets him see his wide, almost goofy smile, pressing his forehead against his. “If you like that, very well…Brian.”

Now it’s Brian’s turn to blush, exhaling slowly as he pushes his head back into Jack’s neck. A moment of silence passes between them, each breathing the other in, feeling their warmth in the other’s arms…

Brian growls, suddenly. “Dammit…”

Jack lifts his head. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Brian huffs. “We should be competing, right now. I can’t keep waiting forever to knock Itami’s fuckin’ lights out…”

Jack purrs, slowly curling some of Brian’s hair around his fingertips. “Oh, don’t worry…this will all be worth it soon enough, when you and I have him cornered…”

Brian lifts his eyes curiously. “Yeah?”

Jack growls faintly, becoming wrapped up in the thought, himself. “Yes. And we’ll crush his skull. I promise.”

Brian smiles blissfully, pressing a kiss up into Jack’s cheek. “And we’re gonna win, aren’t we?”

Jack hums for a moment. He grabs one of Brian’s hands that have fallen against his cheek, and warmly kisses his palm.

“Yes, I promise, love. This isn’t a game we’re going to lose.”

Brian smiles, breathing out contently. Jack is right, of course.

When Jack’s by his side, he _never_ loses.


End file.
